


you are reaching for something that is beating

by orphan_account



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten honest truths about loving a scarred boy. - Mai, Zuko.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are reaching for something that is beating

.0.

Azula regales me, out in the garden on a clear spring day, with the story of how your father burned half your head off

— she smirks as she describes charred flesh staining the arena floor.

I slap her and mar porcelain skin with my dagger-sharp nails

— she still smirks because I mean nothing, and I walk through the gate with my head up, like I'm going to my execution.

Then I sit down on the dusty street and sob until I am empty.

.1.

You try not to meet my gaze.

"It isn't so bad," I lie, and kiss your thin lips.

.2.

On the boat ride home I touch your face, almost by accident

—  _it_ feels waxy and cold as I skate my fingers around.

You stiffen.

I pull away.

.3.

We have a portrait done in faded ink

— the painter tells you to look straight ahead three times.

.4.

Every time I see Firelord Ozai, all I can notice are his unblemished features

— when he did it, I wonder, was it without hesitation?

I bite my tongue until copper floods my mouth.

.5.

You play with fire even though it burned you

— "it's part of me," you explain, as you meditate before dripping, wounded candles.

I examine my stilettos and shudder.

.6.

"Such a shame about Prince Zuko," my mother says, regret saturating her tone, "he used to be so handsome."

.7.

"I'm ugly," you warn, your body perched above me.

I think about the calluses on my hands, my boyish peasant figure, the pale slashes I've cut into my thighs

— "I don't care."

.8.

The day of your coronation, I fix your topknot

and press my lips to your shriveled ear once I'm done.

You do not flinch, but move to kiss me back

hard.

.9.

Your scar is a topographical map, lines and whorls carved into ordinary flesh

— showing how far you've come.

"Besides," I tell you, "normal faces are so _boring_."


End file.
